


Just Because

by ineffablebadger



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Hogmanay, Homophobia? What Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, New Year's Eve, Saturnalia, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29082729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablebadger/pseuds/ineffablebadger
Summary: The winter season has been filled with excuses for kissing for millennia, and Aziraphale and Crowley are more than happy to blend in with the humans.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27
Collections: Good Omens Winter Wonderland Zine, IneffableBadger's Seasonal Fics





	Just Because

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elxetera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxetera/gifts).



> This was originally written for the Winter Wonderland Zine.
> 
> Thank you to Elena for inspiring me with this prompt.

**Rome, 44CE**

Crowley was in a fantastic mood. He absolutely  _ loved _ Saturnalia because he got to earn a tonne of kudos Downstairs while barely lifting a finger thanks to the very nature of the holiday. He also enjoyed watching the Roman elite serving those they usually considered beneath them and treating them as equals, for one day at least. 

He was ostensibly here to tempt the Emperor but, Praise  _ Saturn _ , he needed no help there. Crowley lazily ate a handful of grapes and scanned the room for more easy targets. The free-spirited party and free-flowing alcohol ensured that nearly everyone met that description. 

As he did so, Crowley noticed an entirely _too_ _appropriate_ beige toga that stood out in its blandness among the sea of colourful and mismatched synthesis worn by the other guests _._ He snaked his way through the crowds, moving closer to Aziraphale.

“Hullo Angel!” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale replied affectionately, turning toward him, “I suppose you're here for a temptation?”

"Why, are you offering?" Crowley raised an eyebrow. He remembered their last encounter in the tavern and the oysters that followed. Aziraphale had been just about as tempting as he’d ever been that night.

“Not exactly,” Aziraphale then paused for a moment. “If you  _ must _ know the food here is exquisite.” 

"You're here, at this," Crowley said incredulously, gesturing at the debauchery around them, “for nibbles?”

" _ Precisely _ ."

"Tempt you to a drink?"

"Most certainly.”

As they made their way through the crowds to get to the wine, Crowley placed a hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back to guide him. Both knew they could have no more, no matter what they wanted, so they often used the thinnest of excuses for casual physical contact. 

Crowley tried very hard to focus on what Aziraphale was saying as the angel leaned closer to be heard over the background noise. He tried not to gaze at Aziraphale’s lips, which were full and wine-stained, and to stop thinking about how much he longed to close the distance between them and kiss the taste from the angel’s mouth. 

“Aziraphale...” Crowley rasped as Aziraphale moved closer, his warm breath now tickling his neck, “Can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale glanced over at a couple who were pressed up against a column, one of whom was currently sucking enthusiastically at the other's neck, drawing up a purple mark.

“It can’t hurt to blend in…” Aziraphale said shyly, his eyes falling to Crowley’s lips as he nodded his head.

The angel brought their lips together into a gentle kiss. His lips were soft, warm, and giving. Neither of them had dared to say aloud how they felt, but this stolen moment was like a hushed confession. _ A promise _ . This kiss was hurried, bitter tasting from the wine, and over far too quickly. 

Crowley reluctantly pulled away and gazed into Aziraphale’s pale eyes, silently pleading. Aziraphale glanced around nervously and, after a moment, leant in for another kiss. More passionate this time. This was new, bold, but Crowley didn’t object in the slightest. He could stay like this with Aziraphale for hours. 

With a gasp, Aziraphale pulled away.

The angel’s piercing gaze made Crowley feel raw, flayed open. Neither of them could talk. After a long silence, they eventually continued their conversation as normal, ignoring both what had just happened and the celebrations going on around them in favour of the far more interesting entertainment of their companion. 

* * *

**Edinburgh, 1707**

Aziraphale was in Edinburgh blessing humans during the riots that followed Scotland joining the United Kingdom. Although he could not interfere, he did his best to make the humans’ lives more comfortable. He had been in the city long enough to make several acquaintances, one of whom convinced Mr. Fell that he should stay for the festive period. 

Christ’s Mass was rarely celebrated in Scotland at this time, on the grounds of it being too Papist, and the true festivities were to be found on Hogmanay. Aziraphale, of course, was far too polite to turn down an invitation and was curious about how the Scots celebrated the New Year, so he agreed to stay with his host.

Although the angel was against being late on principle, he was particularly careful to arrive well before midnight for Hogmanay. Superstition held that a tall, dark-haired man arriving first through the threshold in the New Year would bring good luck. Aziraphale hardly wanted to undo his good work by cursing the family for the next year should he be the first-foot. 

He handed his gift to his host, a bottle of vintage single malt, and kissed her hand.

"My dear Eleanor, thank you for inviting me!"

"Not at all, Mr. Fell," she smiled, "you have been a true blessing to us."

Aziraphale made his way into the parlour, poured himself a measure of single malt, and helped himself to some food. After a while, he scanned the room and was shocked to notice flaming red hair.

"My dear Crowley!" He beamed, advancing on the demon.

"Hullo Angel."

"What are you doing here?"

"What are  _ you  _ doing here?"

"Helping people through this carnage." Aziraphale smiled.

"Well, I'm here  _ encouraging _ this carnage."

"You didn't think to tell me you had an assignment up in Edinburgh?"

"Oh, like you've never forgotten to tell me about any of your jobs."

"Point taken. I suppose one of us can return to London in the new year in that case."

"Yes I supp-"

Crowley was cut off by the noise of the party as the crowd began to count down to the New Year. As the grandfather clock in the parlour chimed midnight, there was an almighty cheer. Pairs exchanged kisses, and then swapped partners and kissed again, as if trying to make their way around the room.

Eleanor walked over to Aziraphale and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

"Get kissing, Mr Fell!"

Aziraphale's eyes sought out Crowley. It had been far too long since they'd found an excuse to kiss one another. Although the angel had long ago admitted to himself that he actively  _ wanted _ to kiss Crowley, he was aware merely vocalising those thoughts could get him in serious trouble. By necessity the foundation of their relationship was plausible deniability.

He closed the distance between them and pulled Crowley toward him. This kiss was hurried, heated from the whisky, and over far too quickly. The feeling of Crowley's generous lips against his was familiar and kissing him felt like collapsing into bed after a long day. With an audible sigh, he reluctantly pulled away and repeated the maneuver with as many of the guests as he could manage.

* * *

**London, 1800**

Crowley, being a demonic being of the world, liked to throw parties at Christmas. He reasoned that the sort of man he would be, if he were indeed a man, would do the same thing. He thought these parties would involve scant food and lots of alcohol. So, they did. That was until Aziraphale got his hands on the festivities and ensured they featured an abundant buffet. 

“You better not hide any mistletoe in the doorways, you wily old serpent.” Aziraphale joked, wagging his index finger at him. 

Crowley understood the subtext after centuries of their relationship working like this. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Angel,” he replied with a wink.

True to his word, Crowley hung no mistletoe from any of his doorways. The angel, however, had made no mention of ceilings or secluded corners. Crowley could hardly be blamed if the pair of them were caught standing underneath a sprig of mistletoe and encouraged to kiss by the humans. It was all in the name of blending in, as it always had been. 

The party was a success and, had Aziraphale been in the market to sell books, this would have been a good opportunity to promote his new antiquarian bookshop amongst London society. Instead, Crowley noticed with a smirk, Aziraphale was pottering about in the kitchen. He was, no doubt, trying to find the correct glass for the specific variety of wine he was about to drink - or something. Crowley moved toward him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hello Angel.”

“What a lovely party, my dear boy! You really are quite an excellent host.”

“Thanks, it’s my God-giv-” he paused, “natural charm.”

“Whatever your methods, I’m fairly certain She has nothing to do with it.” Aziraphale said pompously, filling two glasses with port before handing a glass to Crowley.

“Angel...”

“What?”

“I kept my promise. No mistletoe over the doors.” He said with a grin.

“So I see.” Aziraphale replied, his eyes sparkling as he raised his glass to his lips and took a swig.

"You should be careful, though. Still some lurking about. You never know  _ where _ you might find it." He leaned closer, whispering into the shell of Aziraphale’s ear, "Or  _ who _ you might be caught underneath it with."

There was the faintest chime as mistletoe miraculously sprouted from the ceiling directly above where they were standing. Crowley glanced up at it, perhaps a little too pleased with himself. 

“I suppose...we should…” Aziraphale murmured.

"It  _ is _ the done thing." 

Aziraphale rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, closing the small height difference between them, and Crowley brought their lips together into a kiss. Heat radiated throughout Crowley’s corporation as their lips made contact, and it wasn’t the alcohol that did that to him. This kiss was tender, rich from the port, and over far too quickly. Crowley made the mistletoe vanish as quickly as it had appeared after the angel steadied himself on the ground.

"Merry Christmas, darling," Aziraphale whispered, breathless. 

"Merry Christmas, Aziraphale." 

* * *

**London, 31 December 1999**

Being almost six thousand years old, Crowley and Aziraphale had seen in the new millennium before. However, this one was different. They had arranged to watch the firework display over the Thames together. It had been Aziraphale’s suggestion, on the basis that customers would be talking about it for months and he should keep up appearances by attending. Crowley hadn’t asked what kind of appearances.

The angel wrapped a scarf around his neck and opted to walk rather than try and find a taxi on the busiest night of the year. The cool breeze against his cheeks woke him up and he felt wired to his fingertips when he eventually arrived in a dark corner off Westminster Bridge. 

“Crowley!” He called happily, spotting the demon lounging against a plinth. 

“Hi, Angel!” Crowley responded. 

“Did you get us priority tickets?” Aziraphale asked, glancing down at the growing crowds.

“Sort of. Would you look at that?” Crowley gestured toward the edge of the river, “I believe a prime spot has just become available.”

Aziraphale did his best to look scandalised, but followed Crowley down the steps to the South Bank without any hesitation. He made sure to hold his hand so they didn’t get separated, and threaded his immaculately manicured fingers through Crowley’s. They both let their hands fall apart as they reached the railings. 

The buzz of excited chatter filled the air as they waited and talked in hushed tones, sharing their memories of the previous millenia. They  reminisced about Rome, Wessex, Paris. Most of all, they talked about their time in London. The city and them had survived a lot together over the centuries. After Crowley pulled out a bottle of champagne and plastic flutes from his jacket, they toasted their home.  _ To London _ . Minutes later, the countdown began.

10…

9…

8…

7…

6…

5…

4....

3…

2…

1…

**HAPPY NEW YEAR.**

Big Ben chimed as one year turned into the next, and without a second thought Aziraphale pulled Crowley into a kiss, cupping his cheeks with his hands. He knew that it was safe here, out in the open but hidden amongst the crowds of hundreds of thousands of couples doing the exact same thing. This kiss was tender, sparkling from the champagne, and over far too quickly. As Crowley pulled away, Aziraphale watched the reflections of the fireworks in the demon’s sunglasses. His eyes, just visible, hinted at something Aziraphale dared not to name.

“Happy New Year, Angel!” Crowley grinned.

“Happy New Millenium, dear.” Aziraphale responded fondly. 

Crowley leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek before wrapping his arm around his waist to pull him close. The angel rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder as they watched the rest of the display together. Each explosion lit up the starless sky and reflected in the river, illuminating the city in colour. Surrounded by the joy and hope of both each other and hundreds of thousands of humans for the years that lay ahead, there was no place either of them would rather be. 

* * *

**The South Downs, 2020**

Crowley and Aziraphale had now spent various winter holidays together over the centuries, in whatever guise those took in given times and places. However, as they decorated an impressive Norway spruce together in their shared cottage, both understood the significance. This was their first Christmas together, in their own home, free from the fear of the consequences of their relationship. 

They had engaged in a spirited debate about what should go on top of the tree. Aziraphale preferred a star while Crowley argued that it should be an angel with a tartan bow tie to differentiate it from other, infinitely less likeable, angels. Aziraphale came up with the eventual compromise - a weighted model of alpha centauri that spun on a point atop the tree.  _ Binary stars, like the two of us _ . 

When the star was in place and the fairy lights were turned on, Aziraphale disappeared to the kitchen to make hot cocoa for himself and a mulled wine for Crowley. The angel returned, clutching the saucer as the mug overflowed with whipped cream and marshmallows, and curled up next to his demon on their sofa. He sipped the steaming drink with a content sigh.

“Aziraphale, you’ve got a moustache.” Crowley chuckled, gesturing at the line of whipped cream that had formed on Aziraphale’s upper lip.

The angel dabbed it with a handkerchief with a smile. 

“You missed a spot!” Crowley said with a grin, leaning forward to kiss him. 

This kiss was tender, sweet from the cocoa, and blissfully uninterrupted. Their drinks were forgotten as Crowley threaded his fingers through Aziraphale’s blond curls and pulled him close, peppering gentle kisses across his jawline before returning to his lips. These days, there was very little that could keep him away from Aziraphale’s lips. 

“What’s all this in aid of?” the angel asked when they eventually broke apart.

“Just because,” Crowley murmured, gently kissing Aziraphale’s forehead. 


End file.
